


Cleanup On Aisle Three

by Awakening5



Series: A Little Tight Around The Ol' One-Shooter [4]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: As introductions should be, Bad Grocery Puns, F/M, First Names-Bang-Last Names, Humor, Meet-Bang, Prompt Fic, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:27:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28694703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awakening5/pseuds/Awakening5
Summary: "Peter wonders if shopping feels like a game to her, too. Every time he's here, he's playing Where's Waldo, or I Spy, but for her. Does she keep an eye out for him, too?They've caught each other's eyes enough times for him to hope so. And he's pretty sure he isn't always the first one looking in those exchanges.Today feels different though."-or-Grocery Store Acquaintances Meet-Bang. Let's not complicate this.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: A Little Tight Around The Ol' One-Shooter [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2056338
Comments: 30
Kudos: 90





	Cleanup On Aisle Three

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt: Grocery store acquaintances where we both reach for the same packet of ramen. It’s a meet bang.
> 
> Sorry Jill, I changed ramen to ice cream, pls forgive me.
> 
> And everyone else please forgive me for this indulgent mess. I've entered the meet-bang sphere.

The list of things he knows about her is shorter than his grocery list.

Milk, nuts, melons.

To be clear, those aren't the things he knows about her. Those are some of the items on his grocery list he's pretending to look at while he's _actually_ looking at her.

Beautiful, lives nearby, patient.

He knows she's beautiful because he has eyes. Peter does his best not to let his eyes linger, but he's seen those legs and that face enough times now that he can see them behind closed eyes. Not that he does. Not on purpose.

He knows she lives nearby because he's seen her at this corner shopping mart a dozen times over the last six months. She's a regular. Like him. They happen to shop at similar times, too.

And he knows she's patient because she has given him the generous chuckle the last two times he's said, "Fancy seeing you here," as they passed each other in separate aisles. It's one thing laughing the first time a stranger says something dumb. But a _second_ time? Yes. She's patient. The alternative is that she's humoring him, which, why would she?

Peter wonders if shopping feels like a game to her, too. Every time he's here, he's playing Where's Waldo, or I Spy, but for _her_. Does she keep an eye out for him, too?

They've caught each other's eyes enough times for him to hope so. And he's _pretty_ sure he isn't always the first one looking in those exchanges.

Today feels different though. They nearly crashed carts in the produce section. He was getting peppers for taco night. She was getting cucumbers for something else. And _no_ he did not have _thoughts_ when she handled the vegetable. Or were they fruit? Peter always forgot how the distinction was made. Seeds or vines or something.

The incident was met with apologies and brushed off forgiveness from both parties. Peter might have said "Drive much?" about himself and his cart, and felt pretty stupid about it afterwards.

Unfortunately, he followed up this interaction with the aforementioned "Fancy seeing you here" commentary while getting rice on aisle three and cheese in the dairy section.

And he's _not_ going to do it again. Not during their fourth encounter, here in the frozen section. Instead, he merely smiles. And nods.

"Fancy seeing you here," he says. _Fuck._

The woman doesn't laugh this time. She only raises her eyebrows with a smirk. And those lips are something to behold.

He forces himself to stop beholding them. "I am so sorry," he says with a chuckle and reddening face.

"Don't get out much?" she asks, a gleam in her eye.

He's so much better in his suit. He's quick and clever. Sometimes witty. His audience usually hates him for it though.

"Apparently not," he laughs. Then, at a loss for what to say, he swings open the door in front of him and reaches for his favorite ice cream. Instead of the cold container, his hand is met with hers, soft and wonderful.

They freeze, an inch from the ice cream carton, fingers brushing against each other.

Then, in a terribly delayed reaction, Peter pulls his hand back. "Sorry, you can have it."

She clears her throat. "There's like ten cartons of it, I think we can both have some."

"Right." He catches her eye and they smile at each other. Why does he insist on making a fool of himself?

"Raspberry Chocolate Chip," she says, as she selects the carton he'd been aiming for.

"My favorite," he says, and adds a fourth item to what he knows about her. Impeccable taste in ice cream.

She flashes him another smile, hesitates for a beat, and then loads her basket and keeps walking. He watches her go, keeping his eyes at a respectful level. Which he's grateful for, when she casts her eyes over her shoulder to look at him before turning the corner.

He only replays the scenario three times in his head before he finishes his shopping and heads for checkout. He wonders if he should've asked for her number. Was there an opening there somewhere? Had she thrown him any signs?

She's already at the self-checkout when he finds an empty one. They catch eyes again when he scans his first item. He tries to work up the courage to talk to her one last time, but she leaves while he's swiping his credit card and waiting for the receipt to print.

He's disappointed, but also a little relieved. He _really_ doesn't want to be one of those creepy guys who reads a situation all wrong.

When he leaves the store, a weird jumble of emotions, he finds that he's just a short walk behind her. And she's going in the direction of his building. They've never left at the same time before. Not to his knowledge, at least. And he trusts his knowledge in this case, given how eagle-eyed he is for her at the store.

He's thrilled in an odd way, as if living a _little_ closer to him somehow means something. He's also getting in his head, though, because if she turns around and sees him following behind her, will she be weirded out? Will she be nervous about him? Will she—

The bag she's carrying splits at the seam and her items tumble out onto the sidewalk. He freezes for just a moment and hears her groan in frustration, before jogging forward to help her out. He hits his knees as an item starts rolling away from her, and catches the ice cream carton. And the woman's hand rests on top of his.

His eyes meet hers, and neither hand moves.

"Fancy seeing you here," _she_ says, and Peter thinks his heart might explode before he grins at her.

"Wow, thanks for stealing my line."

"That was a _line_?" she asks, incredulous, and Peter's very aware she hasn't lifted her hand from his.

"Certainly not a good one." But she's smiling back at him. "Your hand is soft," he adds, dumbly.

"Yours is cold," she counters, and finally pulls her hand back, so that Peter can set the ice cream upright. He was happy to let his hand freeze, but now that hers is gone, he doesn't see the point anymore. She starts gathering her other items, so Peter helps out. But it becomes apparent very quickly that her bag is a lost cause. "I knew I should have gotten a replacement," she grumbles. "My other one split last week."

Peter has his two bags—too full to consolidate into one bag, but there's space enough for a lot of her items. "You can cram as many as possible in here," he offers, holding open a bag.

She narrows her eyes at him. "If I let you carry my stuff back to my place with me, are you going to murder me?"

"That would be a terrible waste of a perfectly good person," he says. And he hates that he's seen enough crime in this area to justify her questioning.

"Agreed," she says, still watching him carefully.

"If it makes you feel better, I can wait here with your things and you can go find another bag?"

She sighs. "No, that's thoughtful. But you seem like a nice enough guy."

He thanks her, and they stock up his bags to the brim. She seems impressed at the ease with which he carries the overstuffed sacks, and he tries to remember to act like they're heavy.

"So, you shop there a lot?" she asks him, even though he knows she knows the answer.

"Yeah, I'm just in the blue building around the corner there."

"Nice," she says. "Mine's the ugly red-orange brick one across the street."

"Neighbors!" Peter calls out, delighted. And the woman laughs. "I'm Peter. By the way."

"Michelle," she says. And in their short walk, they discover they're both grad students at ESU. Opposite ends of campus though, which explains why he's never seen her. She'll be a lawyer in a year. He'll still be a starving student for at least a couple more. She's brilliant—of that he's sure. And by the time they reach her building, Peter might be a little in love with her.

It's absurd, and he knows it is. But a _little_ in love is all.

"I can wait here if you'd prefer," Peter says as she swings open the door to her building.

She hesitates for just a second, but Peter's ninety-nine percent sure the hesitation is no longer about his trustworthiness. "No, that's okay."

He probably shouldn't feel tension between them as they get in the elevator together, alone. But he does. Something about being indoors, in a confined space with her. Her scent is more powerful here. Peter lets her fill his senses. They aren't speaking anymore, as they rise through the building. He tries to turn off his super hearing, too, but can't help but hear the increase in her heart rate. So at least he isn't alone in perceiving the tension.

They catch each other's eyes just before the doors open, and quickly avert their gaze. Michelle leads him down the hallway, and Peter follows carefully behind, observing her when as she unlocks her door. 

Her apartment is as clean as a crappy apartment can look. Her furnishings are old and worn, but she obviously takes care of them. Nice pictures hang on damaged walls, coasters sit on a stained coffee table, and the kitchen is organized despite peeling and dented linoleum flooring.

"Here's my place," she says with a sweep of her hand. "You can just—" she gestures vaguely at the kitchen counter.

"Right," Peter stutters, somehow forgetting that he'd been invited to her apartment only to deliver goods. That elevator ride had messed with his head. Or maybe it was his wild imaginations over the last few months. He sets the bag down on the table and starts to unpack it. Michelle starts taking items from his hands, and putting them away. It all feels rather domestic, and sensual in a way. Maybe because she seems to be letting her fingers drag on his every time he hands something off to her. Or the fact that she's reaching for his hands before he can even put the items on the table.

Of course, he's very slowly removing the food from his bag on purpose, too.

And at last, he reaches the ice cream. The dreaded last item. "I'm not sure if this was yours or mine," he mumbles, looking into his bag to see another identical carton.

She snorts out a laugh. "Thanks for your help, Peter." She bites her lip. "Do you...want a scoop? Before you go?"

It takes him a second to realize she's talking about ice cream. He has literally no idea what he'd been thinking she meant. "Yeah, thanks."

She fishes out an ice cream scooper and hands it to him before turning to fetch bowls and spoons. Again, the domesticity of it tugs at Peter. He's smiling at her when she turns back around.

"What?" she asks, sliding the bowls over.

"Nothing," he says with a grin. She smiles back. Their gazes linger until Peter nearly drops a scoop of ice cream on the counter and he's forced to focus.

Peter takes a bite while Michelle puts the carton in the freezer. He can't help but just watch her. And when she turns back around, it's obvious she knows his eyes have been on her. She only smirks at him, and picks up her own bowl. They're standing at the counter together, maybe too close. Definitely not close enough.

"So, Peter," she says casually, and puts a delicate sized scoop on her spoon and brings it to her lips. Her lips are coated with the purple ice cream after she tantalizingly drags the spoon from her mouth. She licks her lips, deliberate. Peter's grip on his own spoon is impossibly tight. He reminds himself he has super strength and could probably break the spoon in half if he isn't careful. "Got any plans for today?"

Put on a suit and swing through the city. "Nothing urgent," he clears his throat.

With her next bite, she does that thing where she turns the spoon upside down, and licks long and slow to get the ice cream in her mouth. It takes significant control for Peter not to groan.

"How about you?" he asks with a shaky voice.

"Completely open," she says, and the way she treats her spoon for her next bite is so suggestive Peter is half-hard by the time she lowers it back to the bowl. Her eyes burn into his the whole time.

"Are you eating that way on purpose?" he manages to say, voice strained.

Her eyes are wild, and she stares him down. "Obviously."

"Oh, thank _fuck_ ," he says, slams his spoon on the table with a loud _clack_ , and pulls her hard against him. Her lips taste like his favorite ice cream. He cradles her face in his hands, and the kiss turns hot in an instant. Her fingers run through his hair, tugging ever so slightly. Her tongue dances with his, and he really can't get enough of the raspberry chocolate chip. He doesn't think he could _ever_ get enough.

He turns them so her back is pressed against the kitchen counter, and she moans into his mouth. The blood running south doubles its rate, and he drops a hand to her waist. One of his fingers manages to find its way under her shirt, and the feel of her skin is electric.

Michelle pulls back to take a breath, and Peter takes the opportunity to tilt his head and press his lips to her neck. Her scent is intoxicating now, and he breathes her in, fingers pressing tighter to her skin. She rakes her hands down his back; her fingernails scratch pleasantly through his shirt, and he really wishes he wasn't wearing one.

"I have to admit," she breathes out while he sucks just under her jaw. "I've been thinking about this for a few weeks now."

So she _had_ been watching him. "Months," he mutters into her skin.

"Months?" she laughs, and she reaches down and squeezes his ass. He rubs against her in response. They both groan.

He lifts his head to grin at her. "Ever since I saw you trying to decide between almonds and peanuts. You had a really cute look on your face. Biting your lip."

"Almonds have just done a good job marketing, you know," she says, and kisses him. "Peanuts can be just as healthy."

Peter wants to laugh, but she hikes a leg up over his thigh and the pressure of her is too distracting. He lifts her up easily, and sets her on the edge of the counter, and slots between her legs. She rolls her hips against his front and he's already painfully hard. She must like what she feels, because she falters backwards, hands out to catch herself, and knocks his bowl of ice cream to the floor.

"Cleanup on aisle five?" Peter asks, pulling back from her for just a moment.

She laughs. "Oh my god, so you _are_ a dork. That wasn't just an act?"

"Nope," he says with a pop of his lips. He glances again at the ice cream. She kisses him.

"Leave the ice cream. It can't fall any farther than that."

Peter doesn't put up a fight. Maybe she'll get ants. Do ants like ice cream? He doesn't care right now.

She tugs at his shirt, and Peter hastily pulls it over his head. Michelle looks dazed when he tosses the shirt on the counter, _away_ from the remaining bowl of ice cream. Her eyes scan his bare chest, and her hands follow, running up and down his body.

One of the best perks of his super powers, really. Peter would try to be humble about it, but when it causes Michelle to look at him like _that_ , he has no interest in downplaying it.

"Did you find everything you were looking for?" he says with a smirk, but like a cashier might at checkout.

Michelle tears her eyes from him in order to roll them exaggeratedly. But she smiles, and quips back. "Not yet. Maybe you could help me find what I'm missing?"

Peter laughs, and kisses her. "Is this gonna be our thing?" he asks, and runs his hands under her shirt, high up on her back. "Bad grocery puns? Cuz I'm all for that."

Michelle kisses him filthy again, only pulling back to say, "As long as I can scan your barcode." She hesitates, and weighs the line in her head before shrugging. "It almost works."

Peter laughs again, and he brings a hand around her front to cup her over her bra. He squeezes her and they both sigh aloud. "I'll just ring you up here, then?" he asks.

But she's not laughing anymore. She shakes her head. "Bedroom," she says, eyes full of fire.

Peter nods and pulls her from the counter to his hips.

They stop only twice on the way to her bedroom. Once so her can pin her to the wall and rub against her for some sort of relief. And the second time against her bedroom door, where they both fumble at the doorknob, simultaneously too distracted by each other's lips and too desperate to get to the bed in order to open the door successfully.

But they do eventually get it, and they stumble into her room, and Peter falls on top of her on the bed.

Now her nails _are_ scratching bare skin, and Peter revels in the feel of her marking him. He rolls his hips into hers, and she grinds back against him. "Peter, _fuck_!" she groans out when he seems to have found a pace and location she approves of. She tilts her head back against her pillow.

"What do you want," he asks her, kissing just under her ear. He nips at her lobe. "I could go down on you," he suggests quietly into her ear. She hisses. "I could fuck you with my fingers. Or we could keep this up, like a couple of teenagers."

"I want to be on top," she says, and Peter pulls back to see a challenge in her eyes. Perhaps she hadn't expected him to take charge, and this was her way of making sure he could handle her making the decisions. Little does she know that Peter likes her suggestion as much as any.

"I don't have a condom with me," Peter says with regret. "Wasn't on my grocery list."

"I've got some," she says, and he reluctantly rolls off of her. Peter shifts up on the bed and adjusts himself in his pants to make himself more comfortable while she gets up and fishes through her drawer. She makes a small sound of victory after a moment, and turns around, waving the little square packet for him to see. Peter laughs, but it dies in his throat when she decides to pull off her shirt on her way back to the bed.

"Holy shit," he breathes out as she climbs onto the bed and up his body. "You are so fucking beautiful."

He can't wait to get his hands on her skin. So much skin. Warm and responsive, he runs her fingertips lightly over her back while she gets into position straddling him. He pulls her down to his face to kiss her again, and his hands work at the hook of her bra. She leans back to pull the garment off, and Peter whimpers at the sight of her.

"So beautiful," he repeats himself, and sits up to put his lips on her chest. She rocks her hips into his lap, and their breathing is already coming out sharp. He pulls her close, hands splayed across her naked back, and covers her nipple with his mouth.

"Peter!" she gasps at the ceiling. And he very much likes his name when spoken like that. So he kisses and licks until she's said it several more times, reveling in the feel of her hands in his hair, tugging and scratching at his head. He can sense, after a time, when the sensations have reached a peak.

"Still have that condom?" he asks, lifting his mouth from her chest, and pulling her face down for a kiss.

"Shit," she says, dazed, and looks around them on the bed. Peter's rather proud she has no idea what happened to it, even if he's momentarily delayed by her misplacing it.

She scoots back and stands at the foot of the bed, and they both find and point to it at the same time. Michelle chuckles at their apparent shared eagerness, but Peter is in no laughing mood when her hands drop to her pants to unbutton them.

She pulls her pants and underwear off in one outrageously sexy motion, and Peter is left gaping at the goddess standing in front of him. She quirks an eyebrow before nodding at his pants. "Right, fuck. Yeah." He's not nearly as graceful as her, but he manages to wiggle out of his pants and toss the last of his clothes to the side of the bed. Michelle bites her lips as she studies him.

"Are you like a model on the side or something?" she asks, and she grabs the condom. "Paying for school?"

"Nope," Peter responds, too in awe of her to make a smart-ass comment. "You?"

She breathes out a laugh and climbs back onto the bed, condom in hand. But she doesn't put it on right away. She leans forward slowly, eyes darting between his erection lying flat on his stomach and his eyes. She takes him in her hand gently, and Peter breathes in sharply at the feeling of her wrapping her fingers around him.

"Wow." She strokes him slowly, tightening her grip. He tightens his grip on the bed spread. "Wow wow."

She leans down and presses a kiss to the tip of his erection, and Peter lets out an honest-to-god whimper. His body is on fire, and it's all he can do not to beg her to stroke faster. His mind stops working completely when she opens her mouth and swirls her tongue around him.

He leans up on one forearm and runs his other hand through her hair. She lifts her eyes to look at him as she takes him in her mouth, and she repeats her movements from earlier with the spoon. "Michelle, _fuck_ ," he says, and falls back to the bed.

She chuckles, and releases him with a smack of her lips, and then gets to work rolling the condom on him. If she wanted to assert her control of the situation, she did so. Peter is sure he will do literally anything she asks him.

She crawls up him once more and puts her hands on his chest, and then lowers her hips. Peter watches, transfixed, as she rocks her body, her center gliding along his erection. "Michelle, wow, can I...can I please touch you?"

" _Please_ ," she says, and Peter doesn't waste time, pressing his hand low on her stomach and letting his thumb dance over her. Her moans tell him he's doing something right. They rock together for a moment, and Peter watches her face while he touches her. Mouth open, eyes closed, but fluttering, she's stunning. She puts more pressure on his chest, and flexes her hands, digging her nails into his skin. It's glorious.

"Okay, _fuck_ ," she curses and opens her eyes. Then in a swift movement betraying her desperation, she takes him in hand again, and lifts herself onto him. He slides into her smoothly, as she lowers herself bit by bit.

"Holy shit, Michelle," he gasps out, and he ceases work with his thumb for a moment so he can grab her thighs and get a hold of himself. "So hot and tight. _Fuck!_ "

She sits up, her hands leaving his chest, and throws her hair over her shoulder. She's literal perfect, he's sure of it. She grabs at her breast with one hand and rocks, forward and back.

He's transfixed by her. The waves of pleasure with each rock of her hips is a miracle. He slowly rocks with her trying to find a rhythm for her. She's so distracting, he's not sure how successful he is, but the short pants of breath seem like a good sign.

When she eventually leans forward again, Peter can tell it's because she's close. Her hair curtains around their faces, and she presses sloppy kisses to him. "Peter, I'm close. _Fuck_ me." And then she stops rolling her hips, and starts lifting them, hard and fast.

So Peter obeys her, and matches her rhythm, fucking up into her with increasing speed. " _Harder_ Peter!" she groans out. Her thighs clench around him, her nails dig into his chest again, and Peter reaches between them. She cries out and he feels her muscles tighten around him. It's almost enough to make him come right with her.

But instead he watches her, heaving breaths and soft whimpers as she falters forward and barely catching herself on the mattress before landing on his chest. She's shaking, and Peter continues to thrust up into her. He squeezes her ass and then runs his hands up her back, holding her to him, and she feels almost boneless in his arms.

"Peter," she says softly after she's gathered herself. She raises her head to his, and he brushes her hair away from their faces so he can see her beautiful face. "I want you to come."

"Yes, ma'am," he kisses her, and then rolls them over. He was already so close, it doesn't take long at all for him to tumble after her. He releases into the condom a minute later and collapses on top of her, holding enough of his weight not to crush her, but letting her feel him on her. Her hands are wrapped around his back, keeping him close.

Bodies hot, but slack with pleasure, they finally separate and he pulls out of her. He ties off the condom, and tosses it into the waste bin he sees beside her nightstand. They catch their breaths before glancing over at each other and losing their breaths again to happy laughter.

"That was really good, Peter," she says when they've gathered themselves.

Peter nods. "Yeah. It really was." He leans in to kiss her. "Peter Parker, by the way," he says. And he almost feels silly, having slept with the woman without exchanging full names. _Almost_ silly.

"Michelle Jones," she grins back at him. Apparently she's not too torn up over how the day has gone. "But those close to me call me MJ."

"Well then, I'm happy to call you MJ." She rolls on her side to more effectively press her lips to his again.

"I'm happy my bag broke," she says, and then she freezes. "Fuck, Peter, your ice cream!"

Yeah. He'd forgotten about it. It was definitely melting or going to melt. He shrugs, and kisses down her neck. He has priorities. "I'll survive."

She laughs, but lets him keep kissing past her collarbone, down the swell of her breast. "Isn't it your favorite?"

He shifts lower, and keeps kissing. "You know, they don't make an ice cream in my favorite flavor, surprisingly."

He peers up at her with innocent eyes from her belly button. She has her eyes narrowed at him, but a smile on her lips.

"And what flavor is that?" she asks, voice tinted with amusement.

He buries his face between her legs and licks into her with a hum. "You, obviously."

Michelle moans and buries her hands in his hair. "So glad I didn't stick to just the things on my grocery list. Please tell me there's a no returns policy on you."

"Don't worry, MJ," Peter says, poking his head up for one last line before losing himself in her. "You ride it, you buy it."

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
